


You’re Coming Back and It's the End of the World

by little_murmaider



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Comfort, I try to create Nategaar Content that's not just the two of them lazily lounging around AND YET, Light Angst, M/M, My Continued Heroic Quest to Convince Everyone in the Fandom to Ship This, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 01:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20145163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_murmaider/pseuds/little_murmaider
Summary: Nathan would rather deal with the increasingly upsetting, alarmingly prophetic nightmares on his own, THANKS. But Skwisgaar is stubborn.





	You’re Coming Back and It's the End of the World

_His body, weightless. His mind, empty. Air bubbles popping at his ears. Pressure crushing his bones. The beast fills his vision. Massive. Powerful. Wise. An endless thump, in his chest and in his skull. **It’s Coming. It’s Coming. It’s Coming. You’re Not Ready.** Her mouth opens. Pressure mounts. A soundless scream. Black.  
  
_Nathan bolted upright, gulping greedily for air, both hands pawing at his throat. He thunked his head against the headboard, bone hitting the wood with a sickening _**FUHWUNK**_. The dark room surrounding him took shape. His bedposts. His bookshelves. His dirty laundry pile. His clean laundry pile. His window, curtains half-drawn, moonlight pooling across the stirring body at his side. The great shuddering within his ribcage fluttered to a watery stop.  
  
Whales. Why was it always fucking whales?  
  
Skwisgaar slithered onto his back, his movements sluggish with sleepiness.  
  
“Whuhappens?” He mumbled.   
  
His head slid off Nathan’s shoulder and flopped to the mattress, blond hair shimmering white as it draped across his closed eyes. Nathan pushed it back, nails skimming his scalp, and Skwisgaar sighed contentedly as he leaned into the contact.  
  
“Nothing. Go back to sleep.”  
  
“Yuhhas dat dreams agains?”  
  
“No.” He untangled himself from Skwisgaar’s limbs, which had somehow wound around his torso, and swung his legs to the edge of the bed. “And now I need to get up. For an unrelated reason.”  
  
Skwisgaar clawed after him. “Where you goingks?”  
  
“Nowhere.” He snatched a pair of jeans off the ground. Sniffed at the crotch. Good enough. He pulled them on. “Walk.”  
  
He tugged on the first shirt he could find, too tight and too short, his stomach puffing like fresh biscuits between the hem and his waistband, his bellybutton a deep, unfortunate thumbprint.  
  
“Gonna head into the woods, maybe pull out a couple trees by the roots, maybe throw them at other trees, nothing crazy, don’t worry about it, go back to sleep.”  
  
“_Okej_.” Stomach on the sheets, Skwisgaar’s hand swept across the floor, fingers closing around something soft. “I comes too.”  
  
Nathan groaned.  
  
“No. _Opposite_. You. **Here**. Me. **Away**.”  
  
“Naaaahhhhh, I comes too.” Still prone, he floundered into whatever garment he’d found. He stood, took one step, and stumbled back onto the bed. He stared, confused and bleary-eyed, at his legs, which he had shoved through the arms of a sweatshirt, the muff-like pocket grazing the tops of his thighs. “Dese ams de weirdest pants.”  
  
Nathan stooped with an annoyed grunt, yanking at the sleeves pinched to Skwisgaar’s ankles. The fabric bunched as it stuttered over his heel.  
  
“It doesn’t concern you.”  
  
Skwisgaar laughed.  
  
“Everyt’ings you does concoirns mes, you ding-dongs.”  
  
The quaking in his guts that had not stilled since he awoke slowed to a comfortable vibration. Every vertebrae clicked into place, straight and strong. Skwisgaar watched him, eyelids hooded and shining, plush lips drawn up at the corners. Nathan’s heart stalled out. Skwisgaar drew him in, arms coiling around his hips, face pressing into the doughy expanse of his belly.  
  
“If I push hards enoughs,” he said, muffled, his nails catching at the sharp dark gnarl of hair at the base of Nathan’s spine, “you t’inks mine face makes an imprints into yous likes de Silly Putties? _Hueughhueghhuegh_.”  
  
The warm skin flush against him made him think, affectionately, of the beaches of his childhood, the sand hot and grainy, the ocean yawning immense and unknowable before him, every foamy crash at his feet a call to action, every receding wave beaconing him to something he did not and would never understand. He wanted to bring Skwisgaar. He wanted to call his parents.  
  
Skwisgaar nuzzled closer. “_Les ananas ne parlent pas_.”  
  
Nathan barked a laugh. “Uh. What.”  
  
Skwisgaar tipped his chin up to view him, grinning cheesily and expectantly.  
  
“I started loirning French for yous.”  
  
“And that’s what you led with?”  
  
“Dat ams de only t’ings I remembers. I speak two lan-guy-ah-ges already, fuck yous.”  
  
Nathan allowed himself to be lead back onto the bed.  
  
“_Two languages_ is a little generous.”  
  
“Heys. I doinkgs mine fucking bests.”  
  
“Sure bro.”  
  
Sprawled against one another, Skwisgaar’s quick and miraculous hands clambered up his back, cupped around his neck, cradled his skull. It was a demonstrative hold, an embrace that said_ I could end you if I wanted to_. It was a lie. But it was a lie both accepted.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
“Mm?” Skwisgaar’s lips rested comfortably on Nathan’s temple.  
  
Nathan cleared his throat. _“__Jag dricker en protein shake med smak av choklad och mint._**”  
  
**Skwisgaars giggle was so joyful, so uninhibited, the noxious anxiety drained from Nathan in a rush, leaving only warmth, security, comfort.  
  
“_Dumbom_.”  
  
**“Hey.”  
  
**“You knows what dat mean?”  
**  
**“I can infer.”  
  
“Mmmmm.” He drew him closer, combing his fingers through the bramble of Nathan's hair. “_G__å och sova min dumma_.”  
  
And Nathan did.


End file.
